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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29007015">Saw You In The Snow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingwithWolves/pseuds/SleepingwithWolves'>SleepingwithWolves</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The distance keeps us safe [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, My take on the girl in the grey cloak theory, jon is mentioned only though</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:21:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,582</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29007015</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingwithWolves/pseuds/SleepingwithWolves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa used the last of her strength to crawl to the foot of the tree, placing her head on its roots like she would lay on her mother's lap lifetimes ago. She could die here, perhaps, in the halo and ghost of her mother's warmth. Her mind drifting to gentle hands pressing against her head, tucking her hair back, humming a sweet song Sansa knew all the words to.<br/>-<br/>Written for Jonsa New Year Drabble Day 3: Wishes</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jon Snow/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The distance keeps us safe [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Jonsa New Year Drabbles</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Saw You In The Snow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I kinda went off with the theme for today, I think :)<br/>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her legs felt broken, all strength in her bones was gone, her fingers were swollen from the cold, so fat and red and itchy. It hurt just to move them.</p><p>And Sansa truly couldn't see from her left eye. Afraid of what she would feel, she had reached out a hand to touch her eyelid only to find blown up skin and painful cuts.  Did she lose her eye? Could she lose her eye? Sansa didn't think so. She hoped not. Her face was busted only from the punches of the deranged man who had found her on her path.</p><p>The tumble she had taken, dragging him and herself over the edge, had left her in more pain than Sansa could ever bring herself to acknowledge. It had been a desperate move, in a desperate situation. She had seen no other way. Her horse had been scared off, behind the man she could hear the barking of wild hounds. There was no other way but to fall.</p><p>Her pain was better than how she had left the man behind. With branches sticking out from his flesh like needles poking a ball of yarn. He had been barely alive when Sansa woke up, bones aching. She had reached out and clasped her hand against his bleeding neck as the man called out for his mother. His blood covered her hands. <em>Clean hands</em>, Lord Baelish had taught Alayne. She was not Alayne.</p><p>She was a killer now in truth. She was cold too, shivering. Afraid and so tried.</p><p><em>Yet better here than there</em>, Sansa thought. She choose this. she made this choice. Not to go back. To feel the northern wind in her hair. If she'd die in the snow, in her land, facing home, it would be worth it.<br/><br/><em>One more step</em>. Sansa told herself.</p><p>
  <em>One more step and another. Then I'll stop.</em>
</p><p>She came across the heart tree on a chance.</p><p>The image of it had stopped her dead in her tracks. The white wood, red leaves spread out and the sad carved up face. Exhaustion caught up to her finally, her legs wobbled. She fell, her body too heavy to hold her weight. Warm tears trickled down her face.</p><p>How many years had been since she last saw the heart tree?</p><p>When her father still had his head. When her younger brothers and sister still lived and Mother and Robb did not know the bitter taste of steel and betrayal. The tears buzzed on her dry skin and Sansa used the last of her strength to crawl to the foot of the tree, placing her head on its roots like she would lay on her mother's lap lifetimes ago. She could die here, perhaps, in the halo and ghost of her mother's warmth. Her mind drifting to gentle hands pressing against her head, tucking her hair back, humming a sweet song Sansa knew all the words to.</p><p>Mother, she called out. <em>Let me be with you. I miss you.</em><br/><em>I miss you.</em><br/><em>I love you.</em><br/><em>It hurts so much, mother.</em><br/><em>I tried so hard, so hard. I don't want to try anymore.</em></p><p>She pressed her face against the warm white wood. Her tears melted the snow beneath the press of her cheeks. She could sleep here, she could rest here under the gaze of her Father's Gods. Lost in the memories of her mother.</p><p><em>You are Sansa Stark of Winterfell</em>. The old tree called out to her. Yes, she was, that's what she was, wasn't she? She had gotten her name back at the end. She did not have Winterfell. But It was winter. And she had fallen. Let it be enough. Sansa did not have the strength to get up.</p><p><em>Let me rest</em>, she prayed to the old gods and the new. <em>Let me rest and have a happy dream</em>.</p><p>With her eyes closed, she saw a man, with holes in his chest, fire blazing out of the wounds as he donned a black armor of ice. From the gaps on the man's armor grew beautiful flowers. And when she saw his face, the memories of it slipping from her mind as quickly as it came, he gave her a lovely smile that she took and tucked it in the depths of her heart. </p><p>Sansa was in a field of flowers. Under her was warm mud, and crushed fresh grass. As she glanced up to the colorful sky, she found herself staring into the eyes of a young man who was older than he ever got the chance to be.</p><p>"Get up." He told her, "Please?" </p><p>"I can't," Sansa found her voice." I can't Bran."</p><p>"You must." He replied, his voice full of emotions. " You must for me. For us." </p><p>"Why?" Sansa had cried her full of tears out in the cold. But here, she found them yet again. "You're all dead. What else can I do?"</p><p>He shook his head, "Not dead. Not really." Bran spoke. "Wish it and it would be so."</p><p>"Would it?"</p><p>He smiled. "Your wishes come true."</p><p>The prospect of it was so ridiculous that Sansa laughed. "What wishes, Bran? What <em>wishes</em>?" Her laugh morphed into a cry.</p><p>Bran did not deter. He reached out and held her hand, it felt hardly real as if he were holding her from a thousand miles away. In the sunlight, his red hair bristled from the wind, like the leaves from the Weirwood tree.</p><p>"Your wish to have a family. Your wish to have children. For the rest of us to live. All of it, " he said, "is possible. It's all coming towards the end, Sansa. Just a bit more. You've survived so much already."</p><p>Sansa moved away from him. Those were all dreams, stupid dreams. Sansa couldn't speak, her tongue felt heavy. Suddenly, she thought of the man with a lovely smile. The images of children with his hair and hers, so much like her brothers and sister, playing in a field of flowers came into her mind, not unlike the one she was currently within. "It's not true." She said. They were so vivid, so bright and so real. "You're all dead." She repeated helplessly. All but Jon.</p><p>And Sansa would die trying to get to him.</p><p>"No, I'm here. Here but far away." He lifted her hand, his fingers intertwined with hers. " Believe me, <em>please</em>." He begged. "I need my sister. So do Arya and Rickon. We need you. And Jon?" He tells her, his voice urgent. "He needs you more than all."</p><p>It couldn't be real. It wasn't possible. Arya was lost. Once in her denial, Sansa had thought Arya to be riding horses in Winterfell as she was beaten black and blue before the thought of her and Jeyne and Bran and Rickon became too painful to think. Her baby brothers burned. Her sister lost, too young to survive in the wild. Her friend in the hands of a monster. They were all so young.</p><p>
  <em>I was young too once. It felt like ages ago.</em>
</p><p>"You need to get up. For us. For Jon. For your dreams and to watch your wishes come true. If you don't, you'll die here."</p><p>"I don't think I can." She whispered. Sansa felt like a child being comforted. It wasn't right. She was the oldest now. Older than Bran. It wasn't right for her to put it all on him. </p><p>"You can. I know you can."</p><p>Bran vanished. Her fingers chased after him. Only for her brother to lead him into the arms of the man before. His gray eyes were soft. When he pressed his bloody hands against her cheeks, it left stains on her skin. Yet, his touch was gentle. So real that she forgot it wasn't. </p><p>"Come to me." He told her. Pressed his lips on her own. Lovely, soft like petals brushing against her skin. "Sansa" the way he said her name sent shivers down her spine. She leaned into his touch. Her body pressed against him, seeking the comfort of his arms. his warmth. His love. <em>Touch me, touch me. and hold me tight.</em> He swayed with her.</p><p>"Jon," she whispered.</p><p>Sansa blinked. She was back under the heart tree. The pain of her wounds flushed down suddenly in her body. She had forgotten how hurt she was.</p><p>Get up, Bran had told her. But could she?</p><p>
  <em>I'm not strong enough. I never was.</em>
</p><p>Yet, she stepped up all the same. Her legs plunged down. She tried again. Sansa couldn't understand how. She leaned against the carved face.</p><p><em>Sansa Stark of Winterfell.</em><br/>They shouted in the air. Then whispered it softly.<br/>"Are you truly alive, Bran?" </p><p>Yes, the trees told her. and Sansa believed in those words with every fiber of her being. She thought of Jon, her eyes catching him as he watched her sing next to Lady so many ages ago. She thought of his touch, his blood-stained hands. She thought of Bran, of Rickon, and even Arya. Playing out in the field, all dirty with mud and grime but laughing so hard that they could cry. <em>Clean hands</em>. Alayne had clean hands. Sansa did not.</p><p>One more step, she told herself.</p><p>One more step, she whispered.</p><p>Somewhere ahead,  She came upon her tired horse as if it were waiting patiently for only her to arrive. Sansa held out her hand as the horse sniffed her fingers and neighed.</p><p>Sansa grinned in return and laughed as hard as she could.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ahhh I really do like Bran visiting Sansa in her dreams, don't I? Well, this is it for me. I couldn't manage to find the time to work on the other themes, unfortunately. So yeah, I have an idea for tomorrow. Going to try to write it down in time.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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